


The Height of Irresponsibility

by Solrika



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Angry Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, But also, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, In which Jack and Gabriel make questionable decisions, M/M, Mild D/s, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Aftercare, Rough Sex, Smut, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-06 19:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11042928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solrika/pseuds/Solrika
Summary: Reaper is Gabriel's alter-ego, allowing him to do what he can't do under Overwatch's supervision.Jack has been tasked with hunting Reaper down, but the terrorist's resemblance to one Gabriel Reyes proves to be a little too tempting.Gabriel wants nothing more than to be with Jack.You see where this is going. You follow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NortheasternWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NortheasternWind/gifts).



> A gift for the lovely NortheasternWind, who allowed me to play in their sandbox. Have some shameless smut of Jack and Reaper's first time.
> 
> For those curious about the larger story:
> 
> http://northeasternwind.tumblr.com/post/161119438833/i-wrote-a-small-thing
> 
> http://northeasternwind.tumblr.com/post/161143737033/more-on-the-small-thing-i-wrote

It’s a new tactic—throwing him in cuffs and then slamming Gabriel into the wall to hook his hands up over a protruding bit of rebar. It’s enough of a shock to leave him stunned for a precious second. Jack’s on him then, and Gabriel feels a sinking feeling of panic as his arms are pinned to the wall. Stretched up on his toes, there’s no good way to get leverage, and he’s just about to consider head butting Jack in the nose when he hears the heavy _clunk_ of the pulse rifle hitting the ground. 

“Not gonna shoot you,” Jack rasps against the mask, and Gabriel represses a shiver as he feels Jack’s gloved hands settling on his hips. “So you just stay there and listen, okay?”

The Reaper doesn’t speak, so Gabriel just cocks his head to the side, barely daring to hope. 

“Good,” Jack hums, “good.” He stares at the mask, brow furrowed as if he could see past the black lenses covering Gabriel’s eyes. The silence holds long enough for Gabriel to start to consider an escape attempt, and then Jack sighs, “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

_Oh_ , Gabriel thinks, mind flickering back to that conversation in his office, _oh_. 

“I want you,” Jack continues, blue eyes hard and intent. It makes a shuddery kind of lust curl in the base of Gabriel’s spine. “No strings, no contract, nothing you have to worry about but a fuck. You say no, we walk away and I won’t do this again. You say yes, I take what I want.” His hands tighten just a moment, and Gabriel refuses to arch into the touch. “Got it?”

This is a bad idea. It is one of the worst ideas.

Gabriel takes a breath, and inclines his head in a nod.

~

Reaper shouldn’t look so hot just nodding, but something about that graceful little movement goes straight to Jack’s cock. “Good,” he murmurs, and fights the urge to start right then. “Okay, your left hand’s your no and your right’s your yes. Got it?”

Reaper nods again, rattling his right hand, and then flexes the claws just for good measure. 

“Alright,” Jack says. For a moment, he’s struck still by the possibilities, now that he has the body he wants under his hands. He doesn’t know where to move next, what to do, whether to take a bite or pull Reaper in or what—

Reaper shifts his weight, the cuffs rattling, and Jack growls and surges forwards. He’s not imagining the surprised huff of breath when he sinks his teeth into Reaper’s neck, or the little stutter of hips against his, and it just urges him forwards. He can touch, now, and he does—runs his hands up to span that tiny waist, then down to cup that delicious ass, and back up to those shoulders and those biceps stretched long and beautiful by the way Reaper dangles in the cuffs. Bites again at the pulse point under his tongue just to hear Reaper hiss, just to feel his heartbeat jump under the leather. 

The other man sways with every touch, held helpless by how the cuffs keep him up on his toes, and it shouldn’t turn Jack on so much—but it does. It does.

He wonders if Gabriel would push into his touch like this, fighting gravity and unsteadiness. Wonders if he’d rut against Jack’s leg too, pant heavy and hungry in his ear. He thinks Gabriel might do more than pant, especially when he palms his cock just so, presses against that insistent bulge. Reaper just bites off what might be a whine, and throws back his head. Jack thinks Gabriel would moan. He licks up that straining throat and nips against the edge of the mask and is rewarded with Reaper pressing more insistently into his hand.

“You want me to touch you?” he growls. He gets a nod, this one almost frantic, and adds, “Beg, then.”

Reaper stills for a moment, and Jack can almost hear that clever brain working. Gabe would beg, he thinks, would beg so beautifully—and Reaper, after some thought, rattles his right hand. _Yes_. Jack stares up at it, and Reaper rattles his hand again, claws flexing, catching the light. Carefully, Jack slips his hand under belts and zippers and brushes the head of Reaper’s cock, and Reaper arches into it and goes _yes yes yes yes yes_.

“You want this,” Jack breathes, almost wondering. Something like pride, something like hunger, curls in his voice when he repeats, “You fucking _want_ this.”

_Yes_ , Reaper says, and this time he does whine—just a second, but enough for Jack to growl again and attack those damn leather pants. They’re just as tight as the one Gabe wears, and has just as many _fucking_ belts getting in the way. But Jack is nothing but persistent, and eventually he has Reaper’s cock in hand, the other man frantically rutting against him. 

_Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes—_

“Good,” Jack growls, and lets himself grind against those hips, grip hard at that little waist with his free hand. “Good,” he groans, and is rewarded with another of those tiny little whines. 

He scrambles at his own fly, laughs breathlessly when Reaper rumbles his discontent at losing the hand stroking his cock. The rumble turns into something that could be a squeak when Jack squeezes his ass, and then Jack’s got them both in hand and it slips into that almost-whine again. He strokes, Reaper thrusts into it, and after a few moments they fall into a rhythm that has them both panting.

Reaper keeps letting little noises slip, almost lost under Jack’s own groans of satisfaction, and it just drives Jack further. He gets his free arm around Reaper’s waist, hitches him higher onto his toes so it’s just Jack keeping him steady. “C’mon,” he hisses, “ _c’mon_ ,” and doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. Bites at Reaper’s neck, tries to coax something louder out of him, growls low when he fails and pumps their cocks harder. He wishes he could stay in this heady space forever, feeling power and lust shiver through his arms whenever Reaper shudders and sways against him. 

Jack comes first, cursing through his climax, sinking his fingers into Reaper’s hips hard enough to bruise. It’s enough to tip the other man over after him, and Jack wonders if he’d have teeth in his shoulder if the mask wasn’t in the way. Gabriel might bite, he thinks fuzzily. Reaper certainly seems as if he’d like to. 

They stand there for a long few seconds, getting their breathing back under control. Jack eventually stretches up and unhooks Reaper’s cuffs from the rebar, and with a low sigh, Reaper slithers down to sit on the floor. Jack ignores him while he hunts for a handkerchief in his pocket. He wipes off and tucks himself back into his pants, and then out of some sense of courtesy, kneels down and offers the square of fabric. Reaper looks at it as if it’s some alien relic, and then slowly reaches out and takes it. 

“Keep it,” Jack says, averting his eyes as the other man cleans himself up. When he looks back again, Reaper’s more or less together again, coat askew and with a new looseness in his shoulders, but otherwise looking the same as always. His mask cocks to one side under Jack’s gaze. 

“You wanna do this again?” Jack asks.

~

It’s the worst idea. It’s possibly the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.

Gabriel knows Jack’s just going to leave him after this—he doesn’t owe a terrorist aftercare. He knows he’s going to be in for a nasty sub drop once the afterglow wears off. Has already started making plans to counteract it, and move his schedule around to account for the time it’ll take to burn the misery out of his veins. 

But Gabriel’s just had a taste of something he thought he’d never get, and there’s a new hunger kindling itself in his bones. 

So he nods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for rough and angry sex with a little more dubious consent in this one, folks.

It’s so easy to forget why Jack’s chasing Reaper in the first place. When it’s just interrupting run-of-the-mill mercenary work (and what is Jack’s life, that random hits carried out by his sometimes-lover are considered commonplace),he can slide the whole reason they met in the first place into a dusty corner and leave it. 

Days like this, though, he can’t ignore it.

“Five agents,” he hisses out, slamming Reaper to the ground. “You killed five of my agents!” They grapple for a moment, Reaper’s claws digging into Jack’s arms, a rough hiss coming out from under the mask. In the memory of those funerals it’s all Jack can do not to go for the throat. Instead, he growls, “And in cold fucking blood, too,” and manages to flip Reaper over onto his stomach, throwing his weight down on top to keep him in place.

There’s something building in his gut, the familiar rush of power stoked by the shuddery ice of his fury. “I told you to stop this,” he snarls, forcing his leg between Reaper’s. “I told you to fucking stop killing my agents, and what do you do?” 

Growling, Reaper bucks back up against him, and Jack lets out a wordless noise of anger and gets his hand around the other man’s throat. “Stay fucking still,” he grits out, giving a warning squeeze. Reaper’s claws flex against the dirty floor, scraping dangerously against the concrete, but otherwise he obeys. It’s a small thing, but Jack’ll take it. 

“Five agents,” Jack repeats. He gets ahold of Reaper’s waist, digs in his fingers until Reaper lets out a small whine of protest. The noise goes straight to Jack’s cock, makes his head spin, mixes with the anger into something new and dangerous. Jack bites down on Reaper’s shoulder, lets his hips jerk against that ridiculous ass. “ _Five_.” 

Hissing, Reaper jerks back, and Jack uses it to grab at his waistband, tugging at it. “What’re you even trying to do?” he snaps, and it’s a fight in and of itself to get those pants down far enough that he can settle himself against warm skin instead of leather. The rhythm is jerky, almost inexistent, but it’s enough to urge him on. Reaper feels fever-hot under his gloves, against his cock, and Jack snarls and bites and bites and bites as if he can release this shuddering under his skin if he just manages to draws blood. 

He’s gripping harder, leaving bruises, and Reaper hisses and bucks and eventually starts to struggle against Jack’s hold. His claws ring out against the floor, his throat flexes under Jack’s hand. There’s no more whining now, just power barely contained under the weight of Jack’s body. It makes the new angry thing inside Jack want to break him. 

It should scare him, but he’s too furious, head swimming in lust and the urge to push and push until there’s nothing left. When he manages to press fingers against Reaper’s entrance, it earns him a throaty snarl. 

“You want this,” Jack snarls back. “You bastard, you want this.” He grinds against Reaper’s ass, grips his throat harder. “You kill my agents and ask me for a fuck and then you try to get out of it?”

Reaper turns in his hold, lets out another hiss. The way he spreads his legs is dripping in challenge, head rearing back so the mask’s deep pits look Jack straight in the eye. 

“Thought so,” Jack growls, and it’s a few slippery, groping moments before he’s lube-slick and sinking into that tight heat. 

He loses time like that, in the push-pull of skin on skin and Reaper panting underneath him. Heat licks up his spine and pools in his gut and it’s not enough, not _enough_ , not while that fury’s still simmering beneath and driving every thrust. He feels Reaper swallow beneath his hand. He feels the leather clamped between his teeth, hopes it’s thin enough that the skin underneath will bruise. He feels Reaper breathe under him. There’s still no whining, no desperate squirms, and God—somehow it makes Jack seethe. 

He knows he’s getting rougher, knows he should stop, but Reaper doesn’t say no. Jack wants to punch sounds out of him, wants to hear him scream, and even when he can see the bruises forming on the skin beneath his gloves, all Reaper does is push back into every thrust. 

“You kill five of my agents, and you don’t even have the fucking decency to _moan_ ,” Jack snarls. “You make me lose five men, five good men, and—“ Something in him shifts, the anger roiling into something rawer. “I thought you were fucking _finished_ with that, I thought you—“ 

He bites it back. There’s danger in exposing weakness, even now, and there’s something a little too alert in the taut lines of Reaper’s throat under his hand. 

“Won’t even moan,” Jack repeats, letting the rawness drive his hips deep into Reaper, letting it urge him on. “You send me to five funerals, you give me five fucking speeches to say, five families—“ 

Reaper goes rigid beneath him, shuddering into stillness so sudden it stops Jack cold. 

“What?” Jack asks, and when Reaper doesn’t answer, just stays still and silent, he demands, “What? Guilt got too bad?”

Reaper tilts his head to the side, so slow and considering it makes Jack want to shake him.

“You want me to leave?” Jack hisses. 

… _no_.

“You want me to stop?”

… _no_.

Reaper goes limp, all the fight bleeding out of him as his throat relaxes soft and heavy into Jack’s fingers. He turns his hand palm-up, twitching his fingers— _give it_. As if that wasn’t what Jack was doing before. As if he hasn’t been trying, all this time, to pour his fury out hard enough to leave a mark. It makes that strange, dangerous feeling roar, blood singing in his ears, and he braces his free hand on the floor and thrusts—

—and Reaper _wails_. 

It stuns Jack for a moment, and then before he’s even aware of it he’s thrusting again, and again, and each motion drags a low moan out of Reaper’s throat. For a brief moment, Jack’s reminded of Gabriel in pain—and then Reaper keens again, on a particularly sharp thrust, and the odd thought drops out of his mind as Jack growls and bites down. 

“Finally,” he snarls, “fucking finally.” 

He’s pushing hard enough to make them move with every thrust, and if it wasn’t for their gloves and armor their skin would be rubbed raw in minutes. Part of him wonders if he’s leaving marks on that big black coat. Reaper pants beneath him, the noise harsh and desperate in a way it wasn’t before, and under his chest Jack can feel those broad shoulders twitching with the effort to keep still for him. 

“Take it,” Jack hisses, tightening his fingers, “c’mon, fucking _take_ it for once,” and Reaper screams for him. 

He pushes until the hunger’s spent. He pushes, and pushes, his fury feeding on every little noise he can wring from Reaper’s throat, until he comes with a curse and a bite hard enough to leave imprints in the leather. He feels shaky, after, as if he’s finished a marathon and only now realized he’s ran too far. Reaper lets out a hoarse whimper when Jack pulls out, shudders once and then goes still again. 

Jack sits there, looking down at him, for what seems like an eternity. The fury simmers out, leaving just an emptiness behind. 

His fingers are clumsy with the clean up, and the cloth feels rough against his skin. Reaper seems to agree, if the soft whine is any indication. The mercenary’s always a little limp after sex, but there’s something deliberate this time in how he lets Jack move him around. As if he’s pointedly putting up a surrender. It’s not cowering, not exactly, but it’s the closest Jack’s ever seen from him. 

Jack finishes, and they spend some time staring at each other again. Finally, Jack lets out a breath, leans over and brushes a thumb along the jawline of the mask.

“Don’t do that again,” he rasps, and isn’t sure if he means the killings or the way Reaper gave himself up to let Jack spend his anger. 

Reaper doesn’t answer, of course. Just leans into the touch, light enough to make Jack doubt there’s any movement at all. 

“You okay to walk out of here?” Jack asks.

_Yes_ , clicks the claws on Reaper’s right hand, and Jack sighs, stands up. He resists the urge to fall over, instead straightens his shoulders and picks up his pulse rifle. 

“Don’t do that again,” he repeats, and Reaper just inclines his head in something that could be a nod. 

As Jack leaves, he has a feeling that it wasn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aftercare chapter to follow this one is in the works, promise. 
> 
> Also, if you like this AU, check out Northeasternwind's profile--they've written up two more things for it! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised aftercare scene! Btw, Artemis is Athena's Blackwatch counterpart.

Jack’s been feeling off all day. The shivery, empty sensation that swallowed up his fury hasn’t vanished after a nap, or all his morning meetings. He can’t stop thinking of how Reaper’s throat had felt in his hands, the soft swallow before the man went limp underneath him.

“Sir,” Athena says, in the tone that indicates she’s been trying to get his attention for a while. 

“Huh?”

“Commander Reyes is unavailable today,” Athena tells Jack. “His entire schedule is closed.”

Jack frowns, absently rubbing his fingertips together. He can still feel Reaper’s skin under his gloves, smell the faint iron of bruising and blood. “He said we were going to meet today.”

“Ask Artemis,” Athena replies, a faint note of bitterness sinking into her mild voice. “She refuses to release any details to me.”

“Huh.” Jack can’t help the spike of worry—Gabriel never misses their monthly meetings with no warning, especially since there’s so little time for them to see each other nowadays. “Has he come back from a mission recently?” 

“Again, sir, I have no idea. Artemis is not being forthcoming.” There’s a brief pause, in which Jack imagines the two AIs having a staring match, and then Athena adds, “She says he’s in his quarters on this base, and if you’d like to talk you can ask him yourself.” 

“I might.” Heaving himself out of his chair, Jack says, “Let him know I’m on my way, will you?” 

“Of course, sir.” 

The feeling of emptiness dogs Jack’s steps as he heads down the hall. He’s thinking about Reaper when he knocks on Gabe’s door, about the way he’d just given up to let Jack have what he wanted, and that’s why when Gabriel opens the door it takes Jack a moment to realize something’s wrong. 

He’s ducked inside, glanced around and back, and it’s only then that his brain connects to his mouth and he blurts out, “God, Gabe, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel replies, which is less than convincing when he looks like he hasn’t slept a wink and is trying to disappear into his sweatshirt. 

“That’s your comfort hoodie,” Jack says, eying the oversized sweater with suspicion. “You don’t wear that unless something’s really fucked you up.”

“I’m fine,” Gabriel repeats, but he won’t meet Jack’s eyes and he’s doing the closest thing he comes to cowering—shoulders in, body trying to make itself small, hovering just out of reach. It _would_ be cowering if his face wasn’t so mulish, Jack thinks, and looks around the room again. There’s no bandages, pill bottles, or biotic fields to be seen, so Gabe can’t be seriously hurt. There’s a knot of blankets in the bed, and Jack’s heart clenches at the sight. The last time he’d seen Gabriel try to melt into the mattress, they’d lost an entire squad of his agents. 

“You’re not fine,” Jack mutters, and tries to ignore the way Gabe flinches. “Was it a mission? Something to do with Blackwatch?”

“No, no.” Gabriel rubs at his neck, shifts his weight. The hoodie slips a little and Jack narrows his eyes at the faint scent of rust. 

“You’re hurt, though—“

“Jack, it’s _fine_ , it’s just a hickie,” and Gabriel jerks the hoodie out of the way, baring his neck for inspection. 

There’s a moment when Jack tries not to swallow his tongue in surprise. “Oh.” He tries not to think of another neck under his hands as he steps forwards, staring at the little bruise like it can spill all of Gabriel’s many secrets. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” he says, and tries not to let the jealousy into his voice.

“It was a one-time thing.” Gabriel shrugs, eyes flicking to the side. As he pulls the hoodie back up, he shrinks even smaller. “Not one of my best ideas.”

Jack might not be a tactical genius like Gabriel, but he’s clever enough to put two and two together. If Gabriel’s this upset, someone did a number on him, something more than the little hickie he let Jack see.Jack wants to find this person, wants to wrap his hands around their throat, wants to squeeze and squeeze and not let go. The fury from yesterday kindles in his gut, and he can barely grit out, “What did he do to you?”

Gabriel flinches back, and it smothers the anger before it has a chance to flare. Jack swallows, forces himself to gentle his voice. “Gabe, it’s okay. Here, just—“ He glances around. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Wasn’t hungry.” Gabriel swallows. “After.” 

“Of course,” Jack sighs, because he’s familiar by now with how stress can twist Gabe’s gut into knots. “Let me make you something.” 

“You don’t have to,” Gabriel tries, as Jack walks into the kitchen. He hovers in the doorway as Jack collects pan and eggs and bread and butter. “I know you’re busy.”

“We were gonna meet during this time, anyway.” Jack manages a lopsided smile over one shoulder, worry clawing at his gut. “I’m thinking egg-in-a-hole. You want something else?”

“No. No, it’s fine. Thanks.” 

The moment Gabriel surrenders to the inevitable coddling is almost palpable. Shoulders relaxing, he drifts over to watch Jack work. Still not in arm’s reach, but looking less like he’s ready to bolt. It soothes the strange wrongness that’s been hovering around Jack since the morning. He might not be able to check on Reaper, but he can work on repairing the damage some asshole left on—Jack carefully doesn’t think _his_ —Gabe. 

“So,” he says carefully, “last night didn’t go so well?”

“It was a little… rougher than I like. Wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t just leave after.” Gabriel glances up at him, as if trying to gauge his reaction. Jack makes sure nothing but gentle openness is showing on his face, and if the way Gabe sidles a little closer, it works. “I’ll be okay, though. This—this helps.”

“You let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” Jack cracks another egg into the pan, casts around for something to talk about to keep their minds off the elephant in the room. “You wanna watch a movie once we’re done? Or just cat videos on Youtube?”

“Cat videos,” Gabe replies, and drifts a little closer. “The ones where they fall off shit. It’s funny.”

“You sadist,” Jack snorts, shuffling the eggs-in-a-hole onto a plate. “Okay, schadenfreude it is. Here, take this and go get comfy, I’m gonna put the pan in the sink.”

Gabriel doesn’t leave, though, just waits for him to finish so they can head to the bedroom together. Jack feels strange climbing onto the bed fully-clothed, and even shrugging off his coat doesn’t help. Gabe doesn’t seem to mind, though, if the way he hovers as if wanting a snuggle is any indication. 

“C’mere,” Jack says, like he used to do in SEP when Gabe’s tough-guy act was warring with his need for comfort. And just like in SEP, Gabriel curls up against his side with a happy little sigh. 

There’s a few moments of silence as Jack fiddles with the laptop, Gabriel munching on his eggs, and then the room is filled with tinny music and humans snorting with laughter at their cats’ antics. Jack’s too keyed-up to join in with the giggles, still idly contemplating revenge, but Gabe snickers now and then. Seven videos in, the empty plate gets discarded on the bedside table. Eventually, Jack works up the courage to run a hand up and down Gabe’s back, and is rewarded with feeling the tense muscles under his fingers slowly unspooling. 

“This is good,” Gabriel murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” Gabriel sighs, melting against Jack’s side. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Gabe.” Jack resists the urge to drop a kiss onto the top of his head. He wants, with blazing certainty, to kill the man who took his Gabe and twisted him up like this. He settles for scratching at Gabe’s short hair, smiling at the way the other man smiles, cat-like and pleased. 

It’s twelve more videos in when Jack realizes that Gabriel’s passed out. He contemplates, briefly, worming himself free and letting Gabe nap himself out—but then Gabriel sighs against his shirt, nuzzles against the warmth, and Jack settles back against the pillows. “Athena?” he calls, closing the laptop.

“Yes, Commander Morrison?”

“Clear my schedule for the rest of the day, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you.” Jack tugs the covers up a little higher over Gabriel’s shoulder, worms himself down a little so he’s more comfortable. Gave sighs happily again, murmuring something before going quiet. His breathing’s slow, calm, his shoulders loose. The lingering emptiness in Jack’s chest dissipates, replaced with fondness and a deep relief—Gabe might not be okay now, but he will be. 

He will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a psa, as someone who's dealt with some really bad sub AND top drops--if you don't want to end up all sad like these boys, please do your research on best bdsm practices and make sure all parties get the aftercare they need. Take care of yourselves <3


End file.
